Can I coin it’s the white between that makes the words? And it’s a damn fine thing there’s such stuff twixt these words. They should be seen, and spoken, and sung, with naught but silence around so as to be appropriately appreciated.

This was just lovely. I love the idea of silence have meaning, that silence is filled with things even if not sound. Comparing silence to a show filled with audience reaction, beautiful voices and music speaks the wide variety of beauty and elation that silence can provide. Perhaps through just daydreaming, perhaps through meditation or deep introspection we may find wonders in silence. 🙂

That’s just it Swarn. Silence is never empty. It depends upon the state of mind, or minds involved as to how much or little they hear, and the content within that space, be it beautiful, anguished, or simply there, existing — the beat of the universe. Massive thanks to you for telling me the above. It grew from the beat of one line repeating itself slowly, I closed my eyes, and when I looked back at the page it was finished. I’m never sure who to credit when that happens – laughs True mind.

This is great, Esme, and I suppose it’ll evoke all manner of interpretations in readers. For me, I thought of the obstinacy of something I can’t quite name — I might just call it the silent awareness that’s a kind of backdrop to the conscious play. I may either notice it, oh, there it is again, or I may think of it and as a consequence somehow ‘see’ it. But there’s an obstinacy to it, a tenacity, a persistence, in that if I were to try and obliterate it with the objects of consciousness it wouldn’t dissolve. That would be like trying hide the whiteboard by writing all over it. Anyhow, that’s me off on a tangent, but I was very much drawn to the sense of an intimate theatrical setting in your words, the poignancy (as I felt it) of the witnessing audience, or perhaps just a couple sat within it, and how for them a thread ran through, an obstinate or persistent thread of something-or-other-ness, that seemed apparent, yet perhaps not obviously so, as with my ramblings above on awareness. Great work, full of feeling and intimacy, but somehow easy to inhabit, too. H ❤

It’s a never-ending interest for me the many layers within. All aware in their own way. “But there’s an obstinacy to it, a tenacity, a persistence, in that if I were to try and obliterate it with the objects of consciousness it wouldn’t dissolve.” – Very much so yes. A trick of the light, slight of mind rather than hand, once seen, once aware . . . there’s no going back.

The theatre. Well Esme has always seen both the virtual world and that which is 3D as being more than a little akin to a theatre. The theatre of the mind! – makes ‘oooooo-ing’ noises and mimes a hammer horror film in less than a minute quite successfully – That applies to the inner experience as well as the outer of course. I love that feeling before a show starts, the anticipation, the cosy velvet seats, the womb-like red and gold of the whole place. We are all players (as Shaky once said) and audience at the same time, and need no more than ourselves for the show to begin. But it’s much more fun . . . with two. Depending on their skill level that is. Hahahahaha.

“how for them a thread ran through, an obstinate or persistent thread of something-or-other-ness, that seemed apparent, yet perhaps not obviously so” – Yes, that’s the angle for the two.nods And lets not forget ‘The Gods’ — cheap seats for the poor in the heavens of the theatre, whilst waving their string-tied fingers as the marionettes dance.

“Great work, full of feeling and intimacy, but somehow easy to inhabit, too” – Oooooooooooh. Lovely is that. Thank you Hariod big time for those words. And all the others too! ❤

An outrage I shall try in my heart to forgive. Try, mind you. – laughs – People make it to fellow bloggers posts when they can — I of all people hold nothing against those who arrive late, or indeed arrive not at all. – smiles and hands him a strong coffee.

“I believe it is now my favourite!” – Thank you Professor! It’s creation was out of the blue, one line that wouldn’t leave, and repeated itself as a . . .well ostinato, hence the title, and then everything converged at once, and suddenly it was done, dusted, and staring back at Esme from the page. And I shall admit, (with no intentional blowing of my own trombone intended), that having re-read it myself afterwards, I am aware that had someone else written the piece, I’d love it too. Not that I don’t, for clearly that line of thinking within ones bonce – raps her head with her knuckles and gets a satisfying ‘thud’ back – adds up to just that.

‘Tis an honour indeed to hear that from as fine a wordsmith as yourself – * smiles, bows and does a back-flip, producing a bunch of Gerberas from behind her back for him *

Yes to the opera glasses on a stick and Esme does indeed have a very fine mask, venetian-style no less. As to the best seat? When I’m not mastering the special effects backstage, and keeping an eye on those in the cheap seats, I’m in the Royal Box no less. And I am still waiting to find out what the hell is going on with the story. – laughs

Have a gander at this; the film is of no consequence, but the ballroom scene is just what one might expect at such an affair upon the Cloud!

(Take the quality settings – cog at the bottom right – up to the highest possible for maximum grandeur)

Having swung from the trapeze, swallowed the sword and spit out the flames I must now bow beyond mortal expectation, clap my hands sharply and turn on my heel as though life itself depended on that slice of air. Thank you Esme. Your entertainment never fails to thrill. And now in the interest of poetry, I will take my leave and go outside to (most dramatically) split the last of the season’s firewood.